


Mirror

by microwavebubbles



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-24 19:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30076974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microwavebubbles/pseuds/microwavebubbles
Summary: History never repeats itself. But often, it rhymes.Updates weekly.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 19
Kudos: 61





	1. i (meet)

_i_

_(meet)_

_(verb) arrange or happen to come into the presence or company of_

_“heaven smiles above me_  
_what a gift, here below_  
_but no one knows_ ”

_Queens Of The Stone Age – No One Knows_

“I know you” It was the first thing Aaron was conscious of saying out loud. The girl with a cardboard box and a thousand-watt smile had been talking for so long and he had not been listening. The familiarity of the curve of her brow, the shape of her was lingering, nagging at him somewhere, tugging his brain.

“You’re Ambassador Prentiss’s daughter” He said, realisation hitting him like a lightbulb, the memory of the first time he saw her washing over him.

“Y-yes, I am” She said, a cloud forming somewhere behind her eyes. She wedged the cardboard box a little firmer under her arm, her posture straightening. “Sorry, have we met before?”

“I did security clearance for your mother, oh must have been, ten years ago” He said, nodding. She waited for him to continue, the silence in the air growing thicker as her smile faded.

“You were off to college at the time” He said, the memory of it rolling over him like a wave. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember, busy time for you” Hotch was rambling now, his mind tripping over the details of the one conversation he had with her.

\--

Aaron was twenty-six, his first real assignment with the bureau was security clearance for Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss. Working in tandem with the secret service, he was tasked with gathering background and relevant information on the new agents on her detail. It was tedious, boring work, but he enjoyed it. He gathered all the relevant information; the Ambassador was going on a six-month trip to Germany, her nineteen-year-old daughter was about to start college, they had twelve new agents to background check and profile. The senior agents above him were impressed with his work, all of them professional and courteous.

He was surprised when his boss approached him, asking for a favour. One of the night security agents for the ambassador had a prior engagement, and they had nobody to cover his shift without eating into the overtime budget. Taking his performance into consideration, they asked if he would like to cover the shift, get a minuscule taste of actual protection work. He accepted immediately.

He had just moved in with Hayley, and she was happy to have him out of the house, relishing the opportunity to decorate it properly. Aaron didn’t share her enthusiasm for nice homewares, and she had happily kicked him out for the night, inviting friends over for wine and throw pillow selection. He had felt the scrape of her engagement ring as she kissed him goodbye.

It was after two am when he met her. Reclining in the uncomfortable chair with a book he had been advised to bring, it was a cramped office, no windows or interesting artwork to keep his attention. She assaulted his other senses before he saw her. First, the strong scent of cigarettes, bourbon and some kind of clove curled into the room, followed by the sound of heavy heels and a giggle.

“Brendan! You’re going to _love_ this one!” She rounded the corner, appearing from the foyer with a staggering gait.

“Who are you?” She asked, a curious smile sliding onto her face, her eyebrows raising.

“Oh! Hi. Agent Aaron Hotchner, sorry I’m covering for Brendan tonight” He said, standing from the desk and reaching out a hand for her to shake.

Her nails were inky black and chipped as she grabbed his hand. He was startled by her appearance. She was all jagged edges. Her hair was straight and dark as the night sky outside, her eyes smudged and smoky black. She was wearing jeans so tight they could have been painted onto her skin, thick boots with impossibly high heels and an artfully ripped shirt. She looked like she belonged in a punk band, screaming about pain and loneliness. But her smile was bright and welcoming, her grip was warm and friendly as she took his hand, her eyes sparkling.

“You must be Emily.” He said when she released his hand. That made her laugh, her gaze slightly unfocused. She was drunk but hiding it well.

“That I must!” She said, leaning back to steady herself on the wall as she appraised him. “Aaron… Hotchner” She murmured, rolling his name in her mouth like candy. “You’re the suit doing security clearance right? What are you doing here?”

“Brendan had a prior engagement, they asked me to fill in” He said, ignoring the flush that crept onto his neck with her gaze, the smoky roll of her voice as she said his name. unconsciously he felt himself rub at the finger where a wedding ring would go in a years’ time, a subtle reminder.

“Hmmm... you don’t look like an Aaron” She said finally, tracing a finger down her jaw.

“What do I look like?” he said, intrigued and bewildered as she fixed him with a sharp gaze.

“A suit with a stick up their ass.” She said, laughing. “You need a nickname. Loosen you up a little.”

She was mischievously arrogant. That was the only way he could describe the air she carried with her, confident and playful as she watched him, leaning against the wall for support, the roll of her hips giving away her inebriation. She pulled a cigarette from her purse and lit it.

“You can’t smoke in here” He said, watching as the bluish smoke engulfed her.

“And yet, I am” She replied, winking at him. Reaching over the desk she plucked the book he had been reading from in front of him.

 _“I couldn’t help wondering if that was what God put me on earth for – to find out how much a man could take without breaking”_ She read aloud.

“Vonnegut fan?” He asked as he watched her eyes skim the pages of the paperback, its edges worn and curling.

“Oh yes. You have good taste… Agent” She smiled, pressing the cigarette between her lips again. She handed the book back to him, her finger brushing his lightly as she did so, stroking the length of his knuckle as the smile widened.

“Thank you.” Aaron was just beginning to think she was the strangest person he had ever met.

“Well, I should get to bed.” She said, stubbing the cigarette in a very expensive decorative ashtray. “Guess I’ll have to tell Brendan all my gossip when I get back from Yale.”

Heaving herself from the wall, she stumbled slightly, smiling as she teetered on her shoes.

“Goodnight” Aaron said as she reached the doorway, her hand clinging lightly to the frame.

“Goodnight” she replied, turning her head over her shoulder to look at him, her eyes still sparkling with mischief “ _Hotch_.”

It was the first time anyone had ever called him that.

\--

“Sorry, what did you say?” He was dragged violently from the memory, Emily still standing in front of him, cardboard box wedged tightly under her arm.

“I’m supposed to start here, today, at the BAU?” She held out the paperwork for him.

He felt his jaw tighten as he read over the forms. His signature was absent, as was Jason’s. He scanned each in turn, seeing Strauss’s signature over each of the papers, approving a transfer he had no knowledge of. He felt the familiar boil of annoyance in his stomach, the bureaucracy making his headache and his job harder.

“I’m sorry Agent, there’s been a mistake, you have been misinformed.” He said, handing the paperwork back to her as JJ stuck her head in the office.

He left without another word, his mind immediately turning to the case at hand, two serial killers, brutality and violence in a shared twisted game.

Emily huffed annoyance as she watched his form disappear down the catwalk. He seemed vaguely familiar to her. Something about the way he carried himself, his broad stature seemed to fill the room, his presence like weather, encompassing and always present.

Erin Strauss had told her to report on this day, at this time. She had been bright and confident on the phone, telling Emily that she would be a much-needed stable addition to a unit in turmoil. So, the cold dismissal shocked her. Heaving the cardboard box a little higher on her hip, she left the office, hearing the bustle of the bullpen like a siren’s song.

Aaron wasn’t surprised to find her in his office when they returned. He felt a switch of vigilance trigger in his brain when she told him she had heard they were flying back that night, something to be mindful of. But the weariness of the case had overtaken him, wrung him dry so he was left with only a desire to see his wife and son, by now probably asleep.

Emily tried to hold her ground under his gaze as he swept his eyes across her. He was so tall, and despite the obvious exhaustion, he cast an intimidating shadow over her as she explained the brief profile she had put together in his absence.

Aaron relented, exhaustion overriding all his other abilities as he watched her explain her careful thoughts, catalogued and organised as she stared directly into his eyes, trying to hide her intimidation. The eagerness on her face made him wary, reminded him too much of Elle to be coincidental. The dark hair, the bright light of excitement in her eyes was making him pre-judge her. Compare her to a time where he had not done enough, not seen enough, profiled enough.

He drove home in silence, the radio was dark as he watched the flashes of streetlights approach, cast overhead and vanish, a comforting rhythm as he wound through familiar streets.

His home was dark, as he had expected. With a sigh he thought fondly of the days Hayley would wait up for him, the excitement of their new marriage enough to keep her alert until the early morning hours, bouncing and excited with anticipation, eager for any meagre scrap of his day he was allowed to tell her.

 _But this is better_ he told himself, cracking the door of Jacks room to see him spread asleep in his cot, mouth slack and face peaceful, his pyjamas had little ducks on them, he looked soft and safe and warm. He changed in the master bath, carefully hanging his suit jacket and pants on a hanger as he stripped to his undershirt and boxers. Sliding into bed beside Hayley, she stirred, turning to face him.

“Hi, sorry” he whispered, planting a soft kiss on her brow “I was trying not to wake you”

“S’ok” Hayley mumbled, softly reaching to stroke his jaw in the dark. “How was it?”

“We got them” He said, the expected answer. He heard her nod, a stiff jerky motion.

“Good. Missed you” She said sleepily, her breathing already dropping off as she fell back asleep. “How was your day?” she said finally, the deep even breathing betraying how close she was to sleep.

“weird actually” He said, reaching to touch her shoulder as he settled himself. “We have a new agent starting soon, I used to work for her mother...” He trailed off as he saw Hayley’s face, slack and gentle in the moonlight, clearly asleep.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow” he whispered, kissing her cheek as he rolled into her, preparing to go to sleep.

He hadn’t managed to tell Hayley about his new agent before the morning he was woken with the threat of terrorism. The clench of apprehension in his stomach was enough to wake him fully, not really answering Hayley’s questions when she asked, his mind already in the office, waiting for his body to follow.

Emily spoke Arabic. Confidently translating without being asked Hotch felt his brow furrow slightly as he looked at her. In truth, he had not had time to look over her personnel file before this case, had not had time to take in the salient details of her experience. But as he watched her, conspicuously placing her go-bag on the desk, he knew.

“I’m guessing there’s not much this woman isn’t prepared for” He said to Gideon, forcing him to take her with them to Guantanamo. Emily Prentiss did not cross his mind for the remainder of the case, only the mounting panic of an imminent attack, their desperate lies and scramble to stop it as Gideon lied and tempted and tricked a terrorist in a cell.

He couldn’t call Hayley. He couldn’t tell her she was in danger, that Jack was in danger. Protocol and red tape and bullshit prevented him from warning those most precious to him about the threat they were facing. So instead, he drove home, breaking the speed limit and almost using sirens in a frantic effort to get home to them. They were safe, blissfully ignorant of the danger that had just abated. He felt the tension shift from his shoulders the minute he felt the softness of Jacks hair, ran it through his fingers, breathed him in.

Later, as he shifted himself lightly between Hayley’s thighs, watched as she slowly fell apart beneath his touch he whispered _“I don't know what I would do without you”_ and at that moment it seemed impossible he would ever have to consider life without her or the life they had built together.

He remembered to ask as Jason was running late for a class, catching him in the hallway as he weaved past Anderson, carrying a stack of files.

“How was Prentiss?” He asked

“She plays chess” Jason responded, waving over his shoulder as he hurried to his classroom, full of eager students.

 _“That’s not an answer”,_ he thought, walking back to his office.

He surreptitiously watched her over the coming days, saw how she handled the paperwork and the chaotic frantic energy of the bullpen. But something kept brushing against him as he watched her begin the slow process of integrating into the team. Her sharp edges were gone. At first, he assumed it was ten years of growing up that had done that to her, softened her slightly. But that didn’t feel right, that sharpness, the glean in her eye could have not dulled so significantly that it would vanish completely.

He managed to find her personnel file amongst the stacks on his desk, buried beneath paperwork and forms to sign. His brow furrowed further as he read. An exemplary letter of recommendation from someone named Clyde Easter at Interpol. But she had specifically mentioned the Midwest, Chicago as her prior place of employment. So how did a field agent from Chicago come into contact with a higher-up at Interpol. And then there were the languages, Arabic definitely, and he had heard clipped phrases in Spanish and French as well. He wondered again why an agent with those skills would be wasting away in the Midwest.

Tracing his lip with his finger he thought more about it all, putting it together as a half-formed puzzle. She was not the girl he met ten years ago, the arrogant confidence gone for someone who was desperate to prove herself, longing to fit in. She was intelligent, ambitious and practised in the art of deception.

 _“Is she here as Strauss’s spy?”_ The question came to him like a bolt of lightning, sharp and blazing hot through his consciousness. He stood slowly from his desk, intent on asking Jason for his thoughts.

He found him buried in his office, paperwork piled high around him like a fortress as he read a book, ignoring his responsibilities.

“Jason?” he said

“I’ll get to the requisitions Aaron” he said, mild annoyance already seeping into his tone.

“No” Aaron replied, sitting in the chair opposite him, an uncomfortable wooden thing with mockingbirds on the armrests. “Prentiss. You never told me how she did in Gitmo”

“She plays chess” Jason answered, waving his hand again as though that answered his question.

“That’s not an answer” Aaron pressed, and was surprised when Jason laughed.

“She gave me the same attitude. Are you asking me to profile her?”

“Her abilities and potential within this team? Yes”

“She’s exceptionally capable. Calm under pressure. She clearly has the experience to handle this job.”

“Where do you think that comes from?”

Jason laughed again, finally putting his book down as he looked at Aaron.

“Suspicious, are we?” he smirked.

“No, I’m just worried. After what happened with Elle, are we sure that adding another ambitious overachiever to the team is the correct choice?”

“She’s not Elle. Don't let past actions dictate present deeds. Elle made mistakes; she went too far down the rabbit hole. We both messed up by not seeing it soon enough, and you’re carrying that too heavily.” Jason sighed.

“But she showed up from seemingly nowhere. It seems improbable that at least one of us hasn’t heard of her before now”

“She worked overseas, we’re domestic.”

“She told me she worked in the Midwest”

“Well, then she lied. She’s allowed to lie.”

“Not when it relates to her work experience”

“If she’s downplaying it? Yes. Covert operations overseas aren’t known to the FBI Aaron”

“You think that’s what she was doing?”

“Most likely. Fluent in Arabic, French, Spanish, Russian and Greek? Raised by a powerful single parent of the same gender, father probably walked out when she was pre-pubescent, she was likely precocious, turned it into ambition and has ended up here”

“We’re not supposed to profile each other's home lives, Jason.”

“And that’s why I didn’t bring it up last week when you were fighting with Hayley. You asked me for an assessment of her efficacy in this job, I’m giving it to you. She’ll likely bond with Morgan first, they have similar temperaments, followed by Garcia and JJ. Reid might take time to warm to her, he’s more used to female co-workers with a nurturing predisposition and he’s hurting after Elle.”

“Alright, alright, I get it” Aaron said, raising his hands, deflated lightly that his suspicions were not shared.

“She reminds me of you actually” Jason mused. “Alert, engaged, eager.”

Aaron gritted out a thanks, leaving his office with the nagging still working deep in his brain. He resolved to do nothing other than keep an eye on her, assess her behaviour in the moment rather than speculating as Jason had said.

“It’s just I know so little about your working life, it hurts when you can’t tell me the little things.”

“Hayley I’m sorry, but it slipped my mind. She started when we had a lot going on – I didn’t do it intentionally”

“I know” she sighed, leaning heavily “But it feels like you’re deliberately shutting me out”

“Hayley” he sighed, “Please don't pick a fight, I’m home, I’m here, I’m where I want to be which is with you and Jack. Please, please _please_ just let me enjoy your company”

“Picking a fight?” She said, her tone immediately changing to an icy threat,

“I didn’t mean...”

But it was too late, once started, Hayley’s temper was impossible to cool with words alone. She needed to vent, expel the anger from her body like poison. Aaron had long ago learnt the fastest course was to listen and try to temper his reactions to her accusations. She always apologised, and he always did too, but in her tempers, she always aimed to wound.

He refused to let her go to bed angry, talking with her late into the evening, softly tempering her fears as he privately considered them ridiculous. He knew she did too much, knew he asked too much of her to parent Jack essentially alone. And he tried as much as possible to show her his appreciation, but somehow it always came out wrong. Always came out condescending, or somehow less sincere than he intended. It bothered him that she used to find this quality endearing, now it seemed to irritate her.

When he curled beside her in bed, kissed at her neck, he was unsurprised when she turned him away, her cool dismissal the final act of a fight that had become almost as common as cases calling him away in the early hours.

Politics infuriated him. The bureaucracy and diplomacy required of him since he had ascended to Unit Chief made his skin fizz angrily each time he was forced to interact with the Washington elite. Congresswoman Steyer presented herself so forcefully in his office he was surprised she didn’t ask him to drop his pants so they could measure. The cocky arrogance of power never ceased to amaze him, after seeing photos of women brutally murdered, their killer roaming the streets. Subscribing to the idea that the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few was not good enough for him. Especially when those few could only rely on his team for help because everybody else looked the other way. He tried to steady his breathing, the irritation still bubbling under his skin when he cast his gaze around the office.

Steyer had made a beeline for Emily. Was standing and talking to her with a familiar smile and a warm handshake, clear affection. He wondered if she had tipped her off, made a call, rubbed her shoulders with the elite and used them to gain a foothold. He bristled. He did not trust her, this woman who appeared from nowhere, talented and ambitious. When he pulled her into his office her posture was rigid, nerves that immediately gave way to concealed anger.

“ _Sir”_ She hissed the word like an insult. Like there was no more devastating moniker she could lay at his feet than the curl of her lip around a word meant to convey respect. She hissed truth at him, and he saw it, those same jagged edges the teenage Prentiss had flashed at him, all contradictions and defensiveness.

He felt deflated when she left his office, as though she had punctured his righteous indignation with a look and a raised eyebrow, seen through to the deepest part of his insecurity, the part of the job he was worst at, and targeted it for her scorn. The fact that she was right did nothing to improve his mood.

She cared, viciously so, and he saw it deep in her, that her primary focus was not ladder ascension, but to do what was right by humans. He heard of the way she spoke to the women on the streets, non-threatening and blameless for the lives they led. He saw her come back with heavy shoulders after the death of a teenager.

He got home late that night; losing track of time as he sat and contemplated the mystery of his newest team member. She was slowly becoming woven into their fabric, her astute observation something that was sorely missing since the hurricane of emotion that was Elle. He let his mind wander to what he could have done, what he missed, what they all missed. His hands scrubbing the blood from her wall as he tried to wash his conscience clean as well.

“I made dinner” Hayley had stopped pretending to be hurt. Her first emotion was anger now, throwing it at his feet like a gauntlet to pick up. “I saw you ruin your career on live TV today.”

“I didn’t ruin my career” he responded, the accusation confusing him.

“Really? An antagonistic press conference doesn’t tank your prospects for advancement?” She hissed, sliding a plate of cold food towards him.

“She wanted me to bury the fact that there was a man out there slaughtering women and cutting off their hair Hayley. Are my future prospects worth more than women’s lives?”

“Fuck you” it slipped so casually from her lips he was sure they had crossed her mind many times before. That this was not the first time she had wished for nothing more than to wound.

“Explain to me why you’re always picking a fight” He asked, hearing the plea in his voice.

“I am _not_ picking a fight Aaron. I am just wondering why for a man who claims to love his family as much as you do, you’re spending so much time away from them”

“ _Claims to..._ what the hell Hayley?” He said, anger immediately leaping to the forefront.

“Well, I’m just saying that a man who cared about his family would make more of an effort to be with them” She spat, her own temper immediately rising to the surface.

“What the fuck Hayley. You really think I don't care about you and Jack? Where the fuck is this coming from?” He stood, walking away from her as he felt the anger coming off her like heat.

“This is coming from the fact that you’re always choosing your _job_ over your _son_ ” She spat at him, walking towards the stairs, her footsteps heavy as she stormed away.

They had had this fight before. They always had this fight. Something as simple as dishes morphed so quickly into this, he knew it was at the forefront of her mind every time they argued. Nothing ever seemed like enough. He sighed as he turned to the kitchen, the plated dinner cold and unappetising as he scraped it into the trash.

He let her go to bed angry. When he slipped beside her in the early hours of the morning she did not stir, did not turn her face to his, seeking the scent of him as if it were a salve. Instead, he lay in the dark beside her, the distance between them suddenly seeming so much more than physical.

They didn’t talk about the argument. Instead, he let it burn away to smoulder, dying slowly like a campfire as it faded into obscurity. Hayley made peace by silently bringing him coffee three days later, sliding it across the breakfast counter without a word. Slowly they pieced together conversations, morphing from comments and questions about Jack to questions about his day and back to conversations that sounded almost normal.

In the middle of the night she inched towards him, her palm warm against his hip as she slipped it beneath his nightshirt and he responded, instinctive in the way his fingers found her hair, buried his face in her shoulder. When he slipped into her skin, he found the sensations strangely dulled, as though echoing from a chamber far away.

He kissed her goodbye when he left every morning, feeling as a smile slowly crept back onto her face. They had settled back to relative normalcy when the casual invite for a Superbowl drink found them all at a smoke-filled dive bar, sitting close enough to rub shoulders as he smelt a mingling of Emily’s perfume and Hayley’s mix in the air. A spice mixed with sweet.

Hayley was in a good mood. She laughed and joked and slipped her hand on his thigh whenever the team stopped looking. She would find his cheek to kiss with each drink he brought her, and he felt the genuine smile that crossed her lips each time she talked to members of his team. He was reminded of why he loved her, each time she squeezed his thigh, fluttered her lashes in a gesture of his intent.

But Emily was distracting him. The constant openness in a social setting had caught him off guard. She was _that girl_ again. Teasing and laughing, the light in her eyes burning a hole through him. She was dressed casually, jeans and a nondescript top. But the way her hair curled, softer than it was the night he met her, shining somehow in the dim light of the bar.

“How are they treating you at the BAU Emily?” Hayley asked, grateful for her to be bringing another drink.

“She means am I being nice to you?” Aaron cut in, hearing the laugh that escaped Emily’s lips, louder than the music making the floors shake.

“Actually, everyone has been incredibly nice” Emily nodded, sounding almost surprised by the camaraderie she had found in their unit. She and Hayley laughed together as they watched Morgan in his element, surrounded by women. When he slipped his palm into Hayley’s, dragged her to dance he tried to ignore the way his eyes flicked to the curve of her cleavage.

He saw JJ’s face when she pushed her way through the bar. Jaw set and determination. He sighed, wrapping his arm slightly tighter around Hayley’s waist.

“We’re about to get called in” He said in her ear, feeling the way her body deflated, resignation and disappointment as the joy leaked out of her.

“Okay” She said softly, squeezing his hand. “I’ll get a cab”

“It’s okay, I’ll take you home.” He replied.

He nodded at JJ, acknowledgement before she had to ask. He drove home deliberately under the speed limit, trying to convey how much he did not want to leave.

“Emily’s nice” Hayley said, breaking the silence in the car, the air somehow filled with tension.

“She’s a good agent, she’s fitting in well” Aaron replied, finding Hayley’s knuckles and holding her hand over the centre console.

“She’s pretty” Hayley said, the lift in her voice betraying the question hiding underneath.

“Is she?” Aaron responded mildly, lifting her hand to graze her knuckles with his lips. “I’ve always preferred blondes”

He felt he had answered correctly, hearing Hayley laugh as she flexed her fingers in his grip.

Later, he would think back to the feeling of her hand in his as a final moment of peace.

The perfume in the round table room was hers. She smelt like cinnamon, with hints of citrus and he wondered what it meant to be able to pick a woman’s scent out of a line-up. He had no option to dwell on it as the horror-filled his screen, the vicious and stark nature of the violence committed by a team of unsubs.

The house was in disrepair. Every surface covered in newspapers, plates with scraps of food littered the house, as they searched, the silence a damnation as they did not find Reid. Relief at finding JJ was short-lived. She was covered in blood, her pupils blown wide they were almost black with fear as she tried to keep herself steady, not quite able to cover her shaking hands as they brought her into the house. It was barely twelve hours later when JJ pulled a gun on her.

She was frazzled nerves, guilt and fear and she put voice to the question that had been lingering in the back of Hotch’s brain. He walked slowly, trying not to betray the intense curiosity that came rushing forth.

“How come none of this bothers you?” JJ breathed.

“She’s right you’ve never blinked.”

 _Fear._ That was what he saw when he met her eyes, the sharp contraction of her pupils, the way her breath stuttered. And she lied, weaving the fabrication out of thin air. He knew she lied. And she knew it too, but he let her leave anyway.

Gideon was unravelling before his eyes. He heard as he paced and rubbed his palm, digging his thumb hard into his palm, as though trying to slow his pulse, tamp the fear. He talked to himself, trying to convince himself that they have done the right thing. His voice lilting and comforting as though he was outside his own body, whispering the words into his own ear. Aaron could feel the blood pounding in his own ears as he watched Reid’s body still on the ground, the video grainy and distorted as he was brought back to life.

Each click of the empty chamber was like a whip crack. As Reid refused to name one of them to die. Until he did.

“What’s my worst quality” He demanded, his brain rushing over the evidence Reid was giving them, the way he was working so hard even under torture to help them find him, to give them pieces of the puzzle they could put together, to get to him in time.

“You don’t trust women as much as men” Her voice was eager. It fell out of her as though it had been waiting, perched in the back of her throat, an accusation she was waiting to hurl at him at the right moment. He felt it nestle somewhere in his brain, setting up shop to fester there indefinitely.

Reid was birdlike beneath his arms. His shoulders trembling as gratitude slipped from his chapped lips, his voice breaking. All Hotch could think as he held him, was how devastatingly _young_ he was. His youth was snatched from him, maybe before this moment, but now it was gone forever. Guilt settled deep in his stomach, a sharp pang every few minutes as his brain played the film reel of this young boy being beaten, his gifts used as weapons to beat him as much as fists and the butt of a gun.

It was a blur. Reid in the hospital, Jason hovering outside the screen, rubbing his palm hard enough that the skin was blushed red, betraying his own nerves. They were silent on the flight, torn between not wanting to smother him, and blanket him with their love and support. Hotch could feel himself tapping his lip with the pen, not willing to betray the anxiety sizzling under his skin. How would this affect him? What had they done to him, subjected him to? What would they do in the future?

He didn’t call Hayley when they landed. A ritual he had established when he joined the BAU and this was the first time he had broken it, choosing instead to return to his office, sit in the silence and dim lighting and try to disappear. He pretended to work, his hand skating over inconsequential paperwork as the lights dimmed to yellow.

“Hey, I’m headed out” Came the voice from his open door. He looked at the clock, it was after 11, the office still and quiet.

“I didn’t realise you were even here” He said, looking up at Emily, leaning casually against his doorframe, holding a file for him to take. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, exhaustion jumping at the chance to press against his bones.

“Good to know my work is appreciated” She said, not able to hide the way her eyes rolled.

“Not what I meant, it’s late. I assumed everyone had left” He said, standing to take the file from her.

Their fingers brushed. As he reached for the file, her pinkie finger brushed against his index. The pattern of her fingerprint traced his knuckle, and for less than a second, time seemed to stop. Orange blossoms and cinnamon invaded his senses, creeping to press against his skin, and he watched as her breath stuttered.

“Goodnight” She said, not quite concealing the tremble in her voice. He nodded.

_“What the fuck was that?”_ Emily thought, throwing her keys on her kitchen counter as she dropped her bags at the doorway. She pushed her fingers through her hair staring out her window into the night, inky black and consuming.

He was familiar to her in some way. Something about the way he crowded her, filled any room with his presence, his voice commanding, confident and strong. She searched her memory, trying to place it with the tug in the back of her brain. It had been on her mind for weeks, that she _knew_ him somewhere, that she had been in the same room as him before, had admired his sharp jaw, the huge hands, had trailed her gaze across those same broad shoulders.

She showered, holding her head under the stream to drown out the visions of Reid in pain. He was so _young._ She had noticed it immediately when she met him, enthusiasm and bright eyes and filled to the brim with hope. She knew that was gone now. That there was no way he could maintain the sunny optimism in the face of having seen up close what people could do to each other.

Emily wondered if her smile had changed.

She slipped from the warm shower to her cool sheets, silently thanking herself for the foresight to put clean ones on the bed before their last case. She rubbed her calves together, felt the slip of her bare skin on the smooth cotton. Instinct and routine made her run her palm across her belly. Slipping between her thighs she felt her body relax, privacy and intimacy alone in her home.

When the images came to her mind, they were frantic and flashing, never lingering on a particular experience, but the way a man thrust into her from behind, making her see stars, a face, a hand buried between her legs, the gasping breath filling her lungs as she moved her fingers faster, slipping on the arousal her body produced as she twisted a nipple between her fingers, the heaving breath echoing throughout her dark bedroom.

A face between her thighs, dark hair across the brow as she arched and twisted into them was what her mind gave her. Lips, dripping wet as they tasted her, pulled her into their face with fingers digging into her ass, feasting on her.

 _“_ Fuck _”_ She heard the word slip from her lips as she pushed her hips harder into her hand, chasing release that sparked low in her abdomen, spread like fire through her limbs. The image in her mind changed, the same dark hair buried in her neck as she wrapped her legs around a strong waist, felt the muscles flex as they sheathed themselves inside her. Her breath was coming in gasps now, sickening close as she moved her fingers faster, sought the spot that made her muscles spasm.

As she came, she saw his face, smiling as she came apart under his imaginary fingers. As her body flexed and shuddered, she tried to pull herself away from the vision of her boss, conjured to pleasure her in the middle of the night. She tried to push it from her mind.

 _“What do I look like?”_ The memory came to her sharp and clear and focused. She had been drunk, coming home from a disastrous night at a bar. She had thrown a beer on a guy who had grabbed her ass, causing a minor fight to break out, and she was torn out of the bar by a bouncer. They had lifted her out, torn her jacket as she fought with the security guard, profanity and filth spilling from her lips with laughter as she giggled.

She had arrived back at home, seeking out Brendan, her favourite night security guard for a cigarette and gossip. Instead, she had found him. He was young and handsome, his suit perfectly pressed, his hair neat in a way that made her want to ruin it. He looked wound tight, like a rubber band about to snap. Still drunk, and reckless, she teased him. Flipped her hair as she took his book.

She had called him Hotch, she remembered that now. As her breathing returned to normal, she tried to push it from her mind, ignore the way the memory of his smile made her stomach twist.

Hayley was waiting up for him when he got home. Sitting by the light of a lamp he felt his shoulders drop as he saw her, geared for a fight, anger oozing out of her like poison.

“Hayley…” He started, and she looked at him. She was crying, silent tears slipping down her cheeks as she set her jaw. “I’m sorry” He finished.

“You think that’s enough. I called you. I _called_ you, and you ignored them. So, I called the switch to see when your flight was back and imagine my surprise when they told me you had been back for hours.”

“I’m sorry, but… this case was…”

“What? Different? Difficult? Aren’t they all Aaron! It’s not an excuse, at least not one I’m willing to accept anymore.” She said, her voice rising to a shout.

Jack started crying, killing his response in his throat.

“I’ll get him” He said as she stood. Turning his back on her he climbed the stairs to comfort his son, lifting him gently out of the crib, holding him against his chest as he shushed his cries, slowly rocked him back to sleep. When he tucked the blankets around his shoulders he sat on the floor, his mind drawing the parallels without invite. Stroking his sleeping son's hand he rested his head lightly against the wall, feeling exhaustion overtake him, unwilling to let _this_ innocence have any chance of being corrupted.

His neck hurt in the morning, he was still wearing his suit when he awoke, before dawn. He knew he had little time before the rush of a morning with a toddler, so ignoring the ache in his body from the uncomfortable sleeping position, he dragged himself into the shower.

Standing under the spray he let the warm water relax his muscles, pound out some of the tightness from his shoulder. He wanted to stay in the shower for as long as possible, avoid the way Hayley would simmer with contempt over breakfast. Instead, he wanted to let the water wash the tension from his body, build some form of optimism that his day would not be filled with headaches.

As his hand scrubbed soap on his hip, he felt the rest of his body wake on delay, a twitch between his legs. It was early enough, and he had the time. He rarely indulged himself this way, feeling his fingers curl around himself, the weight as he grew harder, the pulse stronger.

The worst part of being a profiler was that his fantasies could never mean nothing. As his brain sent him images to time with his strokes, he braced his arm against the wall, feeling the water run rivers down his spine. He saw blondes that reminded him of Hayley, felt the weak twitch in his hand as he pictured running his fingers through it, the way it would fall across his knuckles.

He sped up his ministrations, gripping himself tighter as he heard the low grunt echo across off the tiles. Losing himself in it, he stroked faster, allowing his eyes to close as he bit at his lip, stifling the groans coming from low in this throat. His mind offered him new images, this time his hand twisted in hair dark as midnight, guiding himself into the mouth of a brunette who was eager for him. He imaged thrusting his hips forward, the obscene noises she would make as she swallowed him, stretched her lips across him eagerly.

He thrust into his own fist, the steam in the room making him slippery and hot beneath his grip, his knuckles white as he imaged the faceless brunette, her hand snaking between her own legs as she moaned around him. He felt the familiar tightening of his stomach, the stuttering jerk of his hips as he chased release. He came hard, feeling it pulse hot over his fingers, as the brunette in his fantasy met his eyes, opening her mouth to accept it. He watched in his mind's eye as the fake Emily parted bitten red lips, darted her tongue to catch him.

Shame. Immediate and consuming took him in hand as he rinsed his hand under the shower, confusion clouding his vision as much as the steam. He dried and dressed, trying to push the fantasy from his mind, preparing himself for the continuation of the fight he had walked away from the night before.

Instead, when he entered the sunlit kitchen, she came to him, holding a steaming cup of coffee, which she put aside before slowly sliding her arms around his neck, burying her face in the shoulder of his suit.

“I’m sorry” she breathed, moving her lips to press against his neck, forming her body into him as she felt his arms wrap around her lower back. He nodded into her hair, the blonde somehow feeling like an accusation.

There was something wrong with Reid. He denied it as long as possible but watching him nod off on the jet, snappy and irritable as he disappeared for long stretches. He set his jaw and tried to ignore it, the way Emily’s face twisted with concern as she bore the brunt of his temper, now short and simmering just below the surface. Jason nodded at him, acknowledgement that they were both thinking the same.

It would ruin his career. Would ruin any prospect of future employment, potentially get him charged and jailed for drug possession, depending on what he was using. His sleeves were always down his eyes hazy and lost. But they had no way to help him, watching the walls as he bricked himself in, a cocoon of his own pain.

Jason went to find him in New Orleans. He hoped he would be able to break those walls down, bring him back to them, the healing beginning, like the flower growing in the crack of concrete. He packed his hotel room slowly, always amazed at how he could scatter his belongings so thoroughly in a room he had only spent hours in.

Emily sat next to him on the plane. Filing in with the rest of the team she continued her conversation with JJ as she sat in the aisle seat next to him, changed into more comfortable clothes for the two-hour flight.

“He _was_ cute” Emily teased.

“Shut. It” JJ replied, clenching her teeth as she deliberately turned away from her, looking at Morgan.

“Who was?” Morgan asked, latching onto the quality in Emily’s voice.

“Will LaMontagne” Emily replied, her voice drawling and exaggerating the accent as JJ’s face flushed red.

“Ooh, interesting” Morgan replied, turning in his seat to face JJ properly, preparing to join in the teasing.

It continued until JJ begged them to stop, laughing through her embarrassment as they enjoyed the lightness of the ride home, slowly knitted together a bond of friendship.

“Sorry” Emily murmured, looking over at the stack of paperwork he was working on, the way his fingers trailed the paper, looking for the spot to sign his name.

“For what? Having fun?” he asked, not looking up. “I’m not that much of a drill sergeant”.

Emily laughed, her eyes sparkling as she looked him over. He was still wearing his suit, the tie loosened slightly at the collar, his hair slightly messy.

“Hm, guess not” Emily said, and for the briefest moment her mind offered her the image of his hand fit to her jaw, her body pressed against a wall as he bit her bottom lip. She shook her head, clearing the image from her mind as soon as it appeared there.

“Guess you’re more than a suit with a stick up their ass after all” She continued, rolling to watch as his hand stilled over the paper, watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, hard.

“You, uh- you” He said, dropping his voice low.

“Yeah, I remember. Took me a minute, but I remember you… Hotch”.

He was taken back to that moment, the way her voice curled around the syllable, rolled it like a candy in her mouth. She had called him by the nickname dozens of times since she started with the BAU, but it had never sounded so sweet. He was somehow taken to a vision of her saying it breathless, with her skin flushed and lips parted, a desperate plea.

“What was the gossip, out of curiosity?” he asked, a poor attempt to distract himself from the fantasy.

“Oh, I threw a beer on some jackass and got tossed out of the bar” She laughed, the memory making her smile. “Deserved it”.

She watched as the smile curved his lip, brief and fleeting as the lines near his eyes deepened, somehow making him look younger, the boyish charm of a smile flashing transitory across his face.

He fought with Hayley again that night, unsure how it started, but it escalated enough for her to throw a plate against the wall, shattering it in anger. He was surprised that these fights no longer incensed him but made him weary. He slept in Jack’s room, curled on the small seat in the corner as he listened to Jack’s breathing, unaware of the turmoil surrounding him.

In the morning he repeated his fantasy in the shower, finding that fantasies of Emily falling apart beneath his fingers made his hips stutter, jerk into a desperate fist as his whole body jack-knifed in two with the force of his orgasm.

Emily appeared in his office after her mother left. She looked wrung dry, slightly exhausted from the case. There were dark circles under her eyes and her clothing was dishevelled. It was early in the afternoon, the bullpen still busy with activity as he slowly closed the door behind her.

“Your Russian isn’t as bad as you think” He said, starting the conversation so she didn’t have to. He gestured to the couch, searching for a bottle of bourbon he had buried somewhere deep in a cabinet. “Drink?”

“God yes” she breathed, gratefully accepting the glass he offered her, before returning to sit behind his desk, returning to work on case requests, farming them to agents best suited for the task. He kept the team as light as possible, knowing they were likely to be called away at any given moment, denying help to the law enforcement that asked.

“Join me?” She said after a minute, the glass already half-empty in her hands. Looking up from the files he nodded, getting up to pour himself a drink, abandoning his work for a brief moment.

“How’s your mother” He asked.

He watched as she let out a breath, “She’s fine. Glad we could help her, I think. Forcing me out to dinner.”

“You aren’t close?” he said, curious.

“Mm… not really. I think she hoped we would magically become closer when I moved here instead of… where I was… but it hasn’t happened” She said her voice light.

He nodded, hoping his silence would prompt her to continue.

“She can’t reconcile the adult I am with the child I was” she said finally, the analytical quality of her voice telling him that she had thought about this a lot.

“I suppose that’s to be expected. Jack is walking now, he’s talking. I can’t believe it’s the same kid that used to fit on one of my arms as a baby” He said. “Like I can’t ever believe he was that small.”

Emily smiled, watching him talk about his son, the way the lightness shone across his face.

“Bottle please” She said, standing and walking towards him. He turned and grabbed it, intent on handing it to her.

He brushed her fingers, trailing his fingerprints across the length of her knuckles, felt himself still as her breath hitched. She stood in front of him, looking down as she searched his eyes. He was sitting in front of her, his posture relaxed as he met her gaze. She felt herself match his movements, lifting her own finger to stroke his.

He put the bottle down, turning back to face her as the room crackled like electricity, tension sparking and flying as he reached again for her. She met him halfway, hooking her fingers with his, lightly stroking his thumb, never breaking eye contact. In his mind he could convince himself this was innocent, comfort offered to a friend in a time of need. But the way her lips parted told him differently, the way he felt his pulse quicken as she rounded her fingers on his knuckles made him know that it was not the case.

“Go home” She said softly, pulling her fingers from his grip, her finger skipping over his wedding ring as she cleared her throat once, and left.

The spell broke the minute she opened the door, and guilt rushed in.

 _“What are you doing?”_ He thought to himself, forcing his legs to work as he stood, paced in a small circle. He was furious with himself, that this stupid private fantasy had somehow intruded onto his work life. He felt revulsion, disgust and rage bubble angrily beneath his skin, forcing the hairs on his neck to stand up, his fists to clench involuntarily at his side.

Emily was right, he should go home. He should be home whenever he had the option to – and he didn’t. Instead, he chose to work, to avoid the fights and the tension and the uncertainty he faced whenever he walked in the door. He wasn’t trying, not hard enough or at all, and his _son_ deserved more than that. He resolved to change it as he grabbed his keys, hopeful that the damage wasn’t already done, that he hadn’t missed too much, that they hadn’t walked too far down the path so as not to walk it back.

He ignored the gentle ribbing from his colleagues as he left the office, 3.30 pm on a weekday was more than unusual for him. He noticed Prentiss deliberately avoid his gaze. He drove the speed limit home, planning on what he would say to Hayley. How he knew that things had not been great between them, but he loved her and Jack more than anything and was willing to do anything to make it better, to make it work. Jack was at day-care, he had the time to talk to her, to apologise to her for being distant, to try and explain why.

He didn’t notice the SUV parked out front of his house. He didn’t notice the front blinds being closed as he walked around to enter through his backdoor. He didn’t hear the music playing in his living room as he walked into it through the kitchen. His law enforcement training only engaged when he heard the noises. The slick slapping of skin on skin.

When he walked into the living room, he knew the image he saw there would be burned into his brain as long as he lived.

Hayley, naked on top of a stranger, her head thrown back, eyes closed in pleasure as she panted a name that was not his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sweetsecretskeptinside.tumblr.com


	2. ii (argue)

_.ii argue_

_(verb) exchange or express diverging or opposite views, typically in a heated or angry way_

_“you hit me once  
I hit you back”  
  
Florence and the Machine – Kiss with a Fist._

“If you walk out that door, I’ll never forgive you.”

The words fell like ice in into his stomach, chilled every part of him. Her voice was flat, emotionless and deadly as she stared at him from across their marital bed, her chest heaving with the effort of keeping her voice low.

Determined, Aaron tightened his grip on his briefcase and left. If she wasn’t there when he came home, he would be fine. He told himself it would be fine because he _had_ to do this. He had to help his team that was struggling and _needed_ him. More than Hayley did.

His mind couldn’t help but conjure the image of her, sweating and breathless on top of a man whose name he did not know. The way everything seemed to slow to a halt, enough that he could look around the room, confirm it was his home he had entered, his wife engaged in something primal on his couch.

She had screamed when she saw him, grabbed blankets to cover herself as she scrambled to her feet. Aaron had watched the scene as though it was a movie, the man shoving clothes on, running out the door as Hayley blocked his body with hers. She looked frightened, as though he was going to commit some terrible act of violence, as though his rage was going to explode forth from him, annihilation.

When she had dressed he still had not moved, his briefcase still dangling from loose fingertips. She approached him with shaking hands.

“Aaron… Aaron, I –“

“Where’s Jack?” his voice sounded foreign to him. As though he was speaking for the first time, careful and slow as he tore his eyes away from her, her skin still flushed.

“At… at daycare, Aaron… Aaron look at me” She had pleaded, and he could hear the tears in her voice, the way they brimmed and trembled on the corners of her eyes.

He started laughing. The absurdity of what he had just walked in on, the wave of emotions he had felt as he drove home, ready to make it up to her, apologise for all his failings and try and make it work crashed over him. He had felt ready to flay himself living for brushing hands with another woman, and yet here his wife was, naked and writhing atop a stranger.

Hayley looked frightened, scared as he continued to laugh, losing his breath as a stitch formed in his side. He turned away from her, walking into the kitchen and laying his briefcase down on the counter. Walking in a circle slowly he tried to rationalise his thoughts, prioritise what he needed to do first.

 _“put your gun away”_ was the first coherent thought he was able to conjure, and it was the fear in Hayley’s face that told him to do that. He recognised that fear from his childhood and to see it in the face of his own wife made his stomach turn over. He walked away from her, upstairs and to the safe, locking his firearm away with shaking fingers as adrenaline surged through him on delay.

When he came back downstairs Hayley hadn’t moved, tears falling freely from her eyes as she bit her lip.

“Those are pointless” he said, gesturing to them as he walked back into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

“I’m sorry… Aaron, honey, I’m so sorry” She said, stepping cautiously towards him, tugging at her shirt as if to cover herself further.

“Guess I know now why you were always picking fights” He mused, taking a long swallow of his beer as she recoiled from him.

“Aaron… I”

“Stop saying my _fucking_ name” he said, fury punching through his gut. He could not hear his name from her lips, still bitten red from a mouth that was not his, he could not see her standing clothed in front of him, when those curves had only ever laid beneath him, and yet he had seen them, less than ten minutes ago, rotating on top of someone who was not him.

“How long?” He asked, hearing the way his voice reduced to nothing, monotone in its insistence.

Hayley stuttered, shuffling her feet.

“That long. Were you still breastfeeding our son when you started fucking him? Must have been. Wouldn’t bring a stranger to fuck on our couch.”

“Aaron…” She whispered

“Don’t say my name. Don’t. Don’t think that you talking to me, in that sweet voice is ever going to erase the vision of you riding some stranger on our couch while our son was in daycare.”

He watched as her face flushed.

“Was he good Hayley? Did you cum. Must have been close given the way you were riding him, or was that your second, or your third? Did he go down on you? Did you suck his cock?” He was advancing on her now, relishing the way she avoided his eyes.

“Stop it” She said finally, wrenching her gaze from the floor to meet his eyes.

“Why. You wouldn’t have if I hadn’t just walked in. Tell me, Hayley. Did you let him cum on your face? Did you like it?” He was deliberately provoking her now “Or if I was to shove my hand down your pants right now would I feel him leaking out of you”

“You’re disgusting” She said, turning away from him as a laugh bubbled forth from his chest.

“No, what’s disgusting is thinking about how many times you’ve cleaned a wet spot off that couch before I got home.”

“Aaron, can we please just talk about this?” She said, tears still falling down her cheeks.

“Fuck you Hayley.”

And he had left. Grabbing his briefcase and keys he walked out the same door he had entered, climbed into his car and drove. He had done four loops around the neighbourhood before he realised he had nowhere really to go. Every time he blinked his eyes he saw it. The exposed curve of her neck as she threw her head back, the flush crawling up her skin.

He ended up in the parking lot of an outlet mall, pulling on the parking brake and staring at his hands. He was shaking, the fingers trembling in a way he recognised from the first time he had been forced to fire at a suspect. He tasted metal in his mouth and wondered if he was going to be sick.

 _“She’s having an affair”_ The thought was all-consuming as it washed over him in waves big and small. _“And you didn’t know”_

He was a trained profiler. He was supposed to know these things. Hayley and he had joked about it when he joined the BAU, that secrets could no longer exist in their marriage because he knew how to spot a lie. But he had missed this or hadn’t looked hard enough. And why would he? He had lived the last year assuming his wife loved and hated him in equal measure, the hot and cold mixed to make a lukewarm emotion in his chest.

Aaron laid his head on the steering wheel as he thought _why_ over and over until it blended into nonsense. Well, she had told him why hadn’t she? Every argument with the same thread, every accusation the same in different colours. He didn’t pay enough attention to his home life, he didn’t care about her, he neglected her. And apparently, this had culminated in her seeking that affection elsewhere.

He swallowed, lifting his head from the steering wheel. Wasn’t this the very problem he had driven home so quickly to fix on this day, choosing a moment months too late to try and fix a problem that was so much worse than he imagined.

And why had he been in such a rush to fix it? Because he had done the same thing. Hadn’t he? He could tell himself all he wanted that holding Emily’s hand an hour ago had been innocent, but the throb he felt in his groin betrayed the truth.

He slammed his fist on the dashboard, tears finally falling from his own eyes as he sat and contemplated the mistakes he had made, the ones that _drove_ her to this.

The sun was setting as he drove home, tears dried and hands steady. This changed nothing. He loved her, he brought a child into the world with her, a child he loved more than the air he breathed, and he would do anything to make sure Jack’s life was safe and happy.

“Daddy!” feet in onesie pyjamas skidded towards him from the living room, his hair slightly damp from a bath, smelling clean and sweet as Aaron bent double to pick him up, press his son fully into his embrace, the purest love he could ever feel chasing away shadows in his mind.

“Hi, Buddy. Almost bedtime, want me to read you a story?” he asked, brushing the damp curls from his son's brow. Jack nodded, his thumb in his mouth as he rested his head on Aaron’s shoulder, relaxing into his embrace.

Hayley was perched on the edge of the couch, barely sitting, stiff and rigid as she watched them interact. He swallowed hard as he met her eyes. As he walked past her, carrying Jack he mouthed _“we’ll talk”_

They were up all night talking. It was more than once, it had been for a long time, she didn’t love him. She apologised, and apologised again. But lingering under her tears was an accusation, that he had somehow caused this. His temper flared, and hers did too, whispered shouts as they stayed in the same room, barely air enough to breathe from tension. It was the same argument, amplified and acute as they continued, neither letting the other walk away to catch breath. As the sun crested over the horizon they agreed to try, mapped out a plan, both of them desperate and longing for the younger version of the other, the time when it was easy to be in love.

He tried. And Hayley tried too. They talked, every day as much as possible, seeking the other out with news big and small. But it was different. Aaron and Hayley tried to pretend it wasn’t, that he didn’t notice when she grit her jaw and swallowed anger, that he didn’t flinch when she touched him.

Jack had noticed. There were chasms between them and his happily babbling boy had started saying phrases that punched him in the gut. _“Daddy sad?”_ He would ask, pressing his hands to Aaron’s cheeks until he forced a smile, blew a raspberry on his cheek to make him giggle. Something felt irrevocably broken between them, trust shattered was all they had, trying to avoid the conversations that would cut them the deepest.

He lay apart from her in their bed, staring at the tendrils of blonde hair that curled towards him, close enough to touch.

“Do you love me?” he whispered into the dark, the hour late enough he was sure she was asleep.

“I want to” Came the breathy response, Hayley somewhere between sleep and waking, both of them eternally tense in the other's presence.

He rolled away from her, feeling his jaw set in acceptance. He wondered if this was the cost to keep Jack happy. When he dreamt, a brunette turned a corridor away from him, just out of reach.

Jason unravelled after Frank. There was no doubt in Hotch’s mind the minute he saw his apartment that this would signal the end of his trusted friend and coworker. After Adrian Bale had murdered six of their agents in cold blood he had come back wounded, scarred and raw like a beaten dog, fearful of any repeat incidents. The arterial spray on the walls told a story of violence and loss. And Frank, like the monster he was, knew which points to press on. Aaron wondered if he had buttons like that, buried deep within himself that would someday be pressed.

When he returned after Sarah’s death he spoke little. Aaron saw him pressing his thumb into his palm with increasing intensity, a pressure point he knew was supposed to relieve stress. He tugged at his clothing, itchy and uncomfortable in his skin and in his grief. And it had gone so terribly, inconceivably wrong, and Aaron saw it, the way it festered behind his gaze. _Doubt._

He was suspended. He came home early in the day to break the news to Hayley, that his job, as well as their marriage, was now in jeopardy. She wasn’t home. Instead, he set the task of making dinner, ignoring the questions swirling in his brain about where she could be, who she was with, why she hadn’t called. He found a dull sort of hopelessness engulfed him in the silence, a resignation that this could be the rest of his life, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Hayley was ecstatic when he told her. Eager and bright-eyed, she kept using the phrase _“fresh start”_ as if it were a mantra for them both to bear, an invitation he should eagerly accept rather than agonise over the dread it drenched him with. Two weeks at home with her pretending they were going to be fine, that his job was the only obstacle they had to overcome made his skin itch. But he read Jack a story every night and told himself it would be enough.

White-collar was his choice, the safest option, no risk, little reward, no glory. Hayley wrapped her arms around his neck and told him she loved him, the first time the words had passed her lips in months, and he was so shocked he didn’t respond.

Strauss was arrogant. She wore it like a shield, protection from something he would never understand, the pressure of being a high ranking woman in the FBI. He knew if she were male, she would have risen higher by now, her nature cut-throat and grating would have been deemed acceptable if it were on the other gender. He felt his jaw clench as she dangled prospects in front of him, knowing she had never seen one of their crime scenes, stood where they stood, saw what they saw. And he would never convince her to, instead only giving her files with the horrors contained within.

He clenched his jaw against her responses, the head bobs and suggestions she made when he saw her. Jagged edges and contradictions as she walked in his office door. It filled him with a righteousness that she seemed to radiate the same energy as him, determined in her cool politeness, back straight and vindictive.

When she announced her intent to leave the FBI, take the foreign service exam he saw it. The way Strauss looked disappointed, and the twitch of muscle in her jaw at being beaten at her own game. He was confused by her admission, but strangely proud as her hair whipped out his door, defiance lingering in the room with the scent of orange blossom.

The file burned hot in his hand when he returned home, Penelope having tossed it on his desk like a gauntlet. He changed out of his suit and found himself somehow in the living room, laptop and files spread before him like a banquet. Worry creased his brow as he looked at the supplementals; the unsub increasing in frequency, clearly on some form of mission. The lack of sexual assault in the victims worried him, pointed to something dangerous they had not seen.

He felt her anger and tried to temper it, heard the slap of files on the coffee table as she turned away the grisly images. He expected Strauss, or Morgan when the phone rang, but instead found dead air followed by a dial tone. Hayley was still glaring at him when her cellphone rang. He watched her deliberately not answer it.

It curled in him like something dormant, the memory of her on the couch he was sitting on, atop the strange man whose name he still did not know. He set his jaw and tried to ignore the way her cries had rung in his ear, a warning and a taunt at once. She forced his focus back to her as she dropped the choice at his feet, as naked and bare as she had been on that day.

With a steady hand, he called Morgan.

It hadn’t taken long to make the choice to go to Milwaukee. He knew the weight of it, that this was the final choice he would make, and he had been correct. The vicious fury she threw at him, their sleeping son in the next room shocked him, his first admonishment to keep her voice down doing nothing to temper her anger.

“Obviously a happy life isn’t _enough_ for you” She had spat.

“You think this is happy? You think we’ve been happy these last few weeks Hayley? I haven’t. You haven’t either, and I can't ignore my obligations, despite how much you may want me to. I have to do this, and you can choose to understand that or not, but I’m going to Milwaukee, because they need me there, and you proved a long time ago you don’t need me” He said, turning his back on her as he left.

“Aaron” She started, the deadly calm of her voice giving him pause. “If you walk out that door, I’ll never forgive you.”

He tightened his grip on his briefcase, and left.

_“Wine”_ was all Emily thought as she crossed to her fridge, her heart still racing from the confrontation with Strauss. Dressing in a suit to go to the office for what she told herself would be the final time had felt wrong, too tight against her skin, compressing her into the choice she did not want to make.

It was vile, what she had been asked to do. Spy on the members of the team and report back, as though covert ops were so woven into her bloodstream it would not be too much of a leap. She had felt it fester under her skin like a poison, making her break out in shivers whenever she thought of a way out of it. Foreign service had been the only option, worm her way back into Clyde’s inner circle and leave the country, perhaps to work for Interpol again. She was blacklisted from Foreign Ops after Ian, but surely, there was something in Europe she could do.

She hadn’t expected Hotch’s surprise, his vehement opposition to her plan, and the way his chest puffed slightly before she left, the faintest glimmer of pride as he watched her go. She had not forgotten the day in his office. The way he put down the bottle to grasp her hand, the way his fingers dragged across her knuckles, or the way her breath caught in her throat. She considered it bizarre and dangerous, the immediate pull of his skin on hers and they had seemed to come to a silent agreement to not be close enough to touch since.

Hotch had seemed distant and distracted before it all went to hell with Gideon, his gaze in the distance, clouded with anger. But he directed none of it towards the team, seemed to face it inward, and Emily resolved to treat it as it was, something silly to conjure in the privacy of her bedroom, never taken beyond the threshold.

Instead, she walked the fantasy like a familiar fairy tale, of what it would be like to kiss him, how he would hold her hips and nibble her ear. She imagined him desperate and fevered, coupled with shy and reserved. Lazily slipping her hand beneath her underwear, she would imagine the mask of stoicism slipping away as she dropped to her knees for him. After her orgasm, she would laugh into a pillow, some kind of faraway daydream that seemed absurd in the aftermath.

She wondered if she would ever see him again, if somehow their paths would cross. She had heard from JJ that he had liaised with Scotland Yard once, and she comforted herself with the knowledge that they may see each other again. She didn’t have the heart to tell JJ she was leaving, instead let the news travel through the grapevine of Penelope, the information superhighway that hugged her with tears already in her eyes.

She was frustrated when the knock came, intent only on listening to music and drowning her sorrows in a bottle of white wine, lamenting the loss of her greatest ambition over politics.

Hotch walked into her home like he had been there a dozen times before. She wondered briefly where he got her address from. But he told her he had put in for a transfer, and that they were needed in Milwaukee and the conflicting information made her head spin. Why was he really here? What could he possibly want from her, or need from her. He was tense, his shoulders twitching as he shoved his hands in his pockets. She felt her living room fill with tension as she watched him pace lightly through her home, use phrases like _‘dereliction of duty'_ while he wore the stoic mask.

She had to know. Had to see what hid underneath it. The flash of it she had gotten when her finger brushed his had not been enough, she needed to see what else lurked beneath the intimidating posture, the suits so cleanly pressed.

He knew. He knew about Strauss and the offer she had made, and the weighing of options she had been given, both heavy around her neck. She saw again the admiration in his eyes as she squared her shoulders, ready to defend herself. As he laid bare all their failings, all the things she could have taken to Strauss if she cared to, she was struck once more by his profiling skills. He knew this, kept it to himself, and he had clearly been watching her.

She felt herself being pulled in, the way he asked her, to come with him. That he wanted her on that plane with him. Not for the team, not for the case, but with him. She cast her mind to the go bag in her hall closet, waiting for her, and hated him slightly for knowing that.

“I have us standby tickets for a flight to Milwaukee. They should call me soon with confirmation. Are you coming?” He pressed, stepping out from behind her kitchen island and coming closer to her, a question in his eyes.

“I’ll come” she said quietly, leaning against the back of her couch. “But you didn’t answer my question. Why are you really here?”

Emily licked her lip as nerves pooled in her stomach, she knew what she was asking and why. But if this was to be her last moment alone with him, some part of her _needed_ to know. Was it nothing, had she imagined the way his head snapped to her every time she entered a room? Or was it the same spark she had felt as the tip of his finger grazed her skin, lit a match she had been unable to extinguish. She was seized by the same reckless curiosity that had dominated her youth, courage to a fault.

Aaron watched as she licked her bottom lip again, sucked it between her teeth until it bloomed red, her knuckles tightening on the couch as he closed the gap between them. His hand came to rest on the couch beside hers, effectively trapping her as his fingers brushed hers again, watching as her eyes fluttered briefly closed.

The shadow he cast on her was imposing as the scent of pine needles and mint invaded her senses. He was too close now, sharing her personal space, and as she met his eyes she noticed he had one white eyelash. She felt her heart begin to slam against her ribs as the tension in the room thickened, only the sound of their breathing as she fought the urge to drop her gaze.

She had pictured it as frenzied, a desperate grab in a moment of weakness. But he moved as he had never been surer of anything in his life as he lifted his hand, and traced the skin of her brow.

Aaron fought the overwhelming urge to crush her to him, mould her body against his as he tasted her lips. He was forcing himself to be hesitant, to give her the chance to back away, push him away, as he expected her to. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, tracing its soft shell as he followed it to the plane of her jaw, lingering on her pulse, hammering as fast as his was. He heard the way her breath hitched as his hand settled on her neck, tilted her head towards him.

His nose nudged against her cheek as he settled his mouth over hers, slipping a hand into her hair as the other wrapped around her waist, encircling her fully in his embrace.

Every fantasy she had was blown apart when he took her bottom lip between his teeth, pressure sharp as he bit lightly, held her close and licked inside her mouth. She felt her hands find his chest, relief at his heart beating as fast as hers was. She felt exposed by him, raw somehow, as though he held only the desire to consume her, and she heard the quiet whimper escape her lips.

He moved his mouth to her jaw, and buried his face in her neck. She heard and felt him inhale deeply against her skin, find the beat strong in her neck and taste it, mouth blazing hot against her neck as she carded her hand through his hair. The vibration of his groan into her skin made her fingers tighten, something feral deep inside asking for more as his fingers began to slip under her shirt, splaying wide across her lower back.

His phone rang and they jumped apart as though burned. Emily turned away from him as she touched her lips, sure they would be scorched from the heat of his affection, her body trembling and tingling as she heard him thank the nameless caller, and hang up. He cleared his throat twice.

“Flight leaves in half-hour,” He said, turning away from her.

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah, just let me change.” She said, running her fingers through her hair as he stood by the door.

The flight to Milwaukee was two hours. Emily bet it would take less than half that before he tried to walk it back. Forty-five minutes into the flight he turned to her.

“Emily…” He started.

“Didn’t happen” She said automatically, ignoring the way he pressed against his wedding ring as though it was a punishment.

“I…” He started again.

“Seriously. Hotch. Didn’t happen, okay? It’s fine, we’re fine, nothing happened” She replied more firmly.

Aaron nodded, wondering how he was supposed to hunt a serial killer with the taste of her mouth in his.

Emily sat in the back of an ambulance with a head wound, her gaze slightly unfocused as she told him she had missed it. He bit back the urge to laugh, absurdity at the scenario, blood dripping down her cheek. She likely had a concussion, but was refusing to be checked over any further. Still, he watched her on the plane, offered to drive her home and was gently rebuffed as she left, offering him a smile as the elevator doors closed on her face.

Aaron had readied himself for the fight before he got home, deep breathing in the car as he prepared to face Hayley’s anger. When he found the house silent and dark, he tried to ignore that his first feeling was relief.

She had left him. Packed a bag for her and their son and left. A note on the kitchen counter explained she was with her sister, and a request for him not to call. He walked from room to room, silent and still as he wondered if she was truly there, or in the arms of another stranger. He swallowed heavily as he packed a bag of his own, their marital bed seeming like a joke in the master bedroom. He left for a hotel, booking a room for an indefinite stay. Jack should live in the house he was born in, and he wondered how he already knew it was over.

He missed the laughter. The absence of Jack’s reckless joy left a hole somewhere in him each morning as he dressed, drove to the office and pretended nothing was wrong. He had told Hayley to keep the house. His first admittance that their marriage was well and truly over, and she had agreed with a stiff nod. She had told him to see Jack whenever he wanted, leaving him a choice that felt like a challenge.

He watched Reid pouring over the letter Jason had left and felt as though two sons had been abandoned by their fathers. Jack’s handprints in a frame held his attention in the office, his guilt over leaving and being left swirling and mixing with the waves of relief at not having to gauge another's temper.

Without Gideon, they needed a port in the storm. He knew he had to be their anchor, something to cling to as they became lost in wonder at how much that man had taken before he broke. He was surprised when JJ and Penelope drifted towards Emily. The way they seemed to seek her out, comfort and camaraderie in equal measure as she became a touchstone for them to rely on, a presence solid despite still being relatively new to the team. He woke most mornings with the taste of her in his mouth.

Emily was always amazed they could sleep on the plane. She tried, closing her eyes and huddling beneath a jacket, but found it impossible to doze off. Instead, she rested, allowing the soft and low hum of conversation to buzz around her brain, chasing away the thoughts that sometimes latched there, memories of things she wanted to forget.

They could be forgiven for thinking the conversation was private. Emily was faced away from them, they could not see her stiffen in her chair as Derek asked the question that had been plaguing her throughout this case.

“What’s the matter with you Hotch?” She froze as she heard the low rumble of their voices, Derek’s gentle prodding just enough to get him to open up, expose a small amount of weakness.

“Hayley’s left” He said. “And she isn’t coming back”

 _Shame._ Horrific guilt and fury flooded Emily like a dam bursting. They had ruined his marriage. One moment of recklessness and his child now came from a broken home. It took the breath out of her, robbed her of her ability to think, only to feel the aching icy sensation that seeped from the pit of her stomach to her extremities.

She had ruined his marriage. It chased itself in her brain, looped back and doubled over as she remembered meeting Hayley, the kind smile she wore, and the way she had gripped Aaron’s thigh in that smoky bar, not wanting to lose contact with him for a second. Hatred welled inside her as a wave of nausea at the finality of it, the dullness of his voice as he admitted he was alone, but kept silent the reason why.

 _“One, stupid kiss”_ Emily thought, clenching her fist at her side _“And look at the damage you wrought.”_

Aaron found an apartment that was equidistant from work and his former home. Space for an office and a spare bedroom for Jack he looked over the depressingly beige walls and wondered if he would ever paint them. He took only his clothing and the furniture from his office, leaving the rest to Hayley. He officially moved out on a Saturday morning, his wedding ring left in her jewellery box.

Jack asked questions of him, wondering why he wasn’t allowed to work the case with his daddy anymore, his favourite Sunday game now stripped from him. He showed Jack his apartment, the special place he had made just for him, his own desk so he could sit next to his father, work cases just like they used to.

Aaron felt the twinge of guilt knowing it would never be the same. Jessica had been there as he packed his things, office and library in boxes for the movers, and they spoke little. She hugged him as he left, gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder as he officially left the home he had bought for them, carried Hayley across the threshold and straight to their bedroom, the mattress still wrapped in plastic as he took her on it.

He mourned his marriage. Knew with the clarity of hindsight that it had been dying long before that day, that both of them and neither of them were to blame, but the slow erosion of time, the chasm widening so subtly neither of them noticing until it was too wide to cross. He did not hate her, he did not love her. He was grateful she was the mother of his child because he knew it was her life’s greatest joy. He thought Jack was truly lucky to have someone who loved him so deeply, flawed in every way but that one. The love she had for Jack was pure and bright and unblemished.

Emily was avoiding him now, her gaze no longer finding him but actively avoiding it. She gave clipped responses, her tone demanding only professionalism which he gave her, energy for anything other diminished, a flickering light that was dying.

When she cautiously offered to care for a traumatised teenager he wounded her, immediate and stern was his rebuttal. He regretted it immediately. The way her face fell as she reminded him she was a human, and perhaps he was too somewhere under the suit and stoicism.

“Emily” He called across the bullpen, late in the evening, days after.

“Hmm?” She replied, looking up wearily from her work. Her eyebrows raised when she saw the bottle of scotch in his hands, the glasses he was offering her as he jerked his head in invitation.

He sat behind the desk, and she perched nervously on the couch, the door of his office deliberately open as he poured two generous glasses of scotch for them.

“I’m sorry” he said after a thick and heavy silence.

“That is a loaded statement” She replied, eyeing him over her drink as she watched his hand, bare now of his wedding ring.

“I shouldn’t have suggested you weren’t objective. That was… wrong of me” He said, casting his eyes away from her blazing stare.

“Oh. I thought you were apologising for making me complicit in the end of your marriage” She said casually.

Emily was confused by the surprise he showed at her statement. His gaze whipped to her questioningly.

“You weren’t” He said finally, tilting his head “How did you know?”

“You aren’t wearing your ring for starters. You have a visible tan line which means you always wore it, I haven’t heard you say Hayley’s name in weeks, and you’re withdrawn.” She said pointedly. “Oh, that and you showed up at my apartment and kissed me”

“You kissed me too” He said quietly.

“I’m not married”

“Neither was I” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “I mean. She told me to leave… and I left”

Emily took a long swallow of her drink, the burn in her throat centring her thoughts somehow. “Explain”.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you” he said, immediately defensive.

“Oh yes you fucking do” She replied, reaching for the bottle to pour herself another. “You owe me that much”.

“Hayley was having an affair,” he said softly. Emily felt her grip on the bottle slip as the words hit her like a slap. “I caught them… after, that day… in here. She was having an affair long before you started here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He said “Not your fault. Not hers either really… we, uh, hadn’t been working for a long time and I think it took us both a while to see it.”

“Still, you don’t… cheat,” Emily said, talking around the blockage in her throat.

“I forgive her, I wasn’t good at being a husband” He shrugged, and a dullness settled behind his eyes.

“You’re good at other things” Emily offered. Hotch laughed, mirthless as he rubbed his hand across his jaw, reaching for his own glass.

“Profiling? I didn’t know she was cheating.” He admitted. “I think maybe I wasn’t looking hard enough”

“Why would you look for something you didn’t want to see?” Emily asked, shrugging her shoulders. “Is that why…, well, were you looking for revenge?”

“What?!” He choked on his drink as she turned her face away from him. “No. God. No, absolutely not. I was, I am… _attracted_ to you” He said. Watching the blush spread across her cheeks he allowed himself the smallest of self-indulgent smiles. “But, that doesn’t excuse, or it wouldn’t be right in any case…”

“Hotch, shut up” Emily said. “I understand. It’s fine, I’m not expecting anything, you have shit to sort out, so sort it out.”

“You’re not expecting anything? Then why did you kiss me?” He said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

“Curiosity.” She admitted, nodding as she stood. “I should go. Thanks for the drink, and… nothing still happened okay?” She smiled, leaving his office and the bullpen.

David Rossi hadn’t changed. Something Aaron found uniquely comforting as the man embraced him, his smile warm and welcoming as it had been since the first day Aaron joined the bureau. He found it easy, welcoming him back into the fold, like an old friend who had never left. Dave showed up at his office door with a bourbon every night, encouraged him to loosen up as he slowly folded himself into their mix, two cases was all it took before they accepted him, stopped looking at him as a godly figure, and trusted him. A few more and it was as though he never left, his insight sharp as a needle, honed from years of experience.

“Tell me about Emily” Dave asked, the light in his office casting his face into a yellow shadow.

“Prentiss? What about her?” Aaron asked, watching Dave’s expression shift.

“Where was she before here?” He asked. He had done similar with most of the team, eager to get to know them well enough to slip seamlessly into the group, allow himself the room to get comfortable.

“Midwest, I think? Chicago?” Aaron offered, knowing she would want him to tell the lie she had offered.

“Talented girl for the Midwest.”

“Woman” Aaron corrected.

“Yes. Woman, you’re right. You work well with her” Dave said, his gaze not leaving Aarons knitted brows as he watched for his reaction.

“She works well with everybody, she’s a valuable…”

“Valuable member of the team, yeah yeah, I remember. I’m saying _you_ specifically work well with her. My memory is you didn’t play well with others.” Dave said.

Aaron shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. In truth, he thought the shift in his relationship with Emily had been subtle, a gradual shift from colleagues to partners, working well together in interrogation, anticipatory of the other's needs. But something else had shifted, and he found his fantasy returning, locks of brunette hair in a clenched fist appearing each time he closed his eyes in a hotel bathroom.

Adjoining rooms with the team meant privacy was all but impossible. The other members knew if you were having a drink at the minibar, watching a movie, taking a long shower. Hotch knew that Morgan exercised relentlessly, JJ had a terrible singing voice, and Reid talked to himself late in the night.

He also knew that Emily had a vibrator in her go-bag, and she used it most nights they were away on cases. The gentle hum through the wall of his hotel room had confused him the first time he heard it, reminding him of the low thrum of a horde of insects. It wasn’t until one particularly late evening, coupled with a particularly terrible construction of the hotel that he heard it, the breathy moan that seeped through the wall mere moments before the humming stopped.

He thought of headphones, turning on the TV, and leaving his room when he realised what he was overhearing. But the pull low in his stomach kept him still on his bed, the throb in his groin a plea from his body to stay, allow himself to slip into it further.

He gave in the next evening, hearing the gentle hum start half an hour after they had arrived back at the hotel. Nudging aside the shame he felt he listened, his own hand drifting to palm the outside of his pants, tightening under his own touch. He heard the moan and felt his body react primally to it, bucking into his own hand as he sank onto the bed, undoing his own belt.

He heard the creak of her bedsprings and imagined what she looked like, wondered if she was naked if the flush spread across her whole body as well as her cheeks when she was aroused. He remembered the way she tasted and wondered if she was as sweet everywhere as the pulse in her throat. Propriety abandoned, he shucked his own pants and tried to stifle the groan that bubbled from his abdomen as he wrapped his palm around himself, hoping she wasn’t able to hear through her own wall.

He fisted himself slowly, squeezing in time with what he imagined to be the roll of her hips on top of him, the fall of her hair as she tossed her head back, focused on her own pleasure as he was granted the honour of watching her fall apart.

When he heard her let out a weak moan his hips stuttered, something feral in his brain wondering if she liked to be handled roughly if she would like it if he bit into her neck, grabbed at her hips hard enough to bruise. The fantasy image of her skin with marks the size of his fingerprints stole a breath from him, turned it into a shuddering gasp as he rocked his hips into his own fist.

He heard her orgasm, the sweet keening moan she let out as his own washed over him, sticky and hot on his fingers. He sat rigid on the bed, some kind of guilt twisting in his gut as he thought of the invasion of her privacy he had just committed. That was when he heard it, the softest tapping on the wall, a rhythm of knuckles. He had knocked back, twice.

In the morning, when she met his eyes she smiled knowingly and repeated her performance to the same effect.

“Hey. Where’d you go?” Dave asked, snapping his fingers to break Hotch out of his memory.

“Sorry. I said people change Dave.” He said, clearing his throat as his phone started ringing, the lateness of the hour could only mean a case.

No case. Just the news that Penelope had been shot.

He watched his team unravel with fear and worry as he tried to conceal his own. He saw Emily take JJ’s hand and squeeze it, silence and fear playing across her face as Aaron privately wondered where Derek could possibly be. He knew he was going to be devastated by this news, their playful banter merely a coating for the deep love and respect they had for one another. He worried he was going to lose her, one of his most reliable assets, and more importantly, a close and dear friend.  
Penelope was the glue that held them together, and Aaron hated that he had never told her that, and hoped he would get the chance to.

As if by some miracle, the minute Derek entered the hospital they were given the news she was going to be okay. He heard the shuddering breath JJ let out, relief and sorrow trapped inside her since the moment they had gotten the news. She physically reacted as Emily wrapped a steadying arm around her shoulder, clenched her jaw in a private wave of relief.

A day of nothing, dead leads and an awake technical analyst left him on edge. Someone had sought her out, tried to execute her and failed. Surely they would be back to finish the job. He found himself pacing his office, tension gripping tight to his muscles as he flipped each fact over in his brain. Penelope had kicked them out hours ago, insisting she needed sleep, and the armed escort outside her door would be enough to keep her safe until morning. Derek had pretzeled himself into the chair at her bedside anyway, refusing to leave.

“Hey, can you drive me home?” Emily startled him.

“What?” He said, turning to look at her. She looked nervous as she followed his pacing.

“Can you, uh. Drive me home? JJ brought me back here, and I don’t have my car. Or I can catch a cab, it's fine” She said, turning to leave.

“No, wait, yes. Of course, I can. Come on” He grabbed his briefcase and relented, reasoning that sleep was going to be the only salve for his nerves.

He drove in silence, watching as the streetlights cast shadows over her face, pulling to park in front of her building.

“Beer?” She said in a small voice.

“Pardon?”

“Want a beer?” Emily repeated, her voice stronger as she looked at him. He nodded, grabbing his wallet, phone and keys as he left the car to join her. She grabbed a beer from her fridge and passed it to him.

“Mind if I get changed? Suits don’t… suit me, as much as they do you” She said, laughing at herself. He nodded, opening the beer and drinking deeply as she disappeared up the stairs. He looked around her apartment, lamenting his own lack of personal touches in his own. She had flowers, fresh and smelling sweet on her dining room table, pictures of JJ and Penelope, drunk and framed in her kitchen, he smiled as he looked at them, relief at knowing she was going to be okay knocking him breathless once again.

“I hate this” came her voice from behind him, and when he turned he nearly choked. She had changed into what was clearly her sleeping clothes. A pair of shorts that barely covered her and a t-shirt from somewhere in France, the letters faded and the shoulders worn.

“Me too” He said finally, taking another long drink of his beer as he looked away from the smooth curve of her thighs, somehow more inviting than the fantasy version he had conjured. He loosened his tie slightly, the room suddenly feeling warm.

“I hate having nothing to _do_ ” Emily whined, drinking half her own beer in one go, before pacing in front of him.

“There’s nothing more we can do tonight.” He said, turning to trace his hand across the bar top as she twisted on the spot.

“I know. But she kicked us out pretty forcefully, we will be back at first light” He said, finishing his beer with two long swallows. She pressed another into his hand before he could ask for it, grabbing one for herself as well. She seemed frenzied, anxious energy vibrating off her.

“You need to relax.” He said, gesturing towards her.

“I know.” She said, heaving a sigh. “You know, an old boyfriend of mine in Switzerland almost drove a car off a cliff?”

“What?” he asked, confused by the abrupt shift in conversation.

“It was an accident. It was late and it had been raining and we were on our way home. He almost missed the turn and killed us both.” She said, turning on the spot as she drank more of her beer. “the adrenaline was intense, you could almost taste it, like metal on your mouth you know?”

Aaron nodded, he had been tasting tin since he heard the news of Penelope, it had not quite dissipated from the back of his teeth.

“And you just have to do something, just. Do anything just to get rid of it, work it off, wind down somehow.”

“What did you do?” He asked. He knew the answer.

“We had sex in the car” She said, stilling in front of him.

“I’m not here for a beer am I?” he asked.

“Do you want to be here for just a beer?” She asked, meeting his eyes as she wrapped her lips around the neck of the bottle.

“No” He admitted.

“Then finish your drink” She said, downing the rest of her own before walking to the stairs “And come upstairs.”

Aaron watched the long legs disappear up the stairs. He took two deep breaths, put his half-empty drink on the counter, and followed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sweetsecretskeptinside.tumblr.com


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